O.B. Joyful


“… Balcony intended for private residential purposes only.”

(but, what could be more private?)

occupant of open space
such as the soul
of the vertigo passage

so that Earth, rushing up to meet the nose may
exit the anus
a soundless
bloody mist, whose

plaintive drumming remains
unheard by passing, more stable pedestrians.

final thoughts exclude existentialist dilemmae
rather, purely gymnastic considerations:

“this is going to hurt,” or, you assume, simply
sobbing through the heights a
victim (the body) clings hysterically to
villain (the soul).

whistling air before the hard
pound of dirt
trains her song on the throat
–the suddenly dry throat–

of the grounded ghost.

in my absence
i finally

what a strange and falling fool was


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